


Club Nite

by justsit



Category: 00Q - Fandom, James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BDSM, Drug-Induced Sex, Everybody Wants Q, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Q is a Holmes, Recreational Drug Use, but not really, kind of crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:58:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4039624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsit/pseuds/justsit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q goes clubbing and meets an old friend. Mayhem ensues. Bond meets an old friend, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Q breezed out of the flat at 2151.

It had been a traumatic three weeks at MI6; multiple missions in support of an international crisis, injured agents, copious equipment requests, coding nightmares, personnel problems. When it was over, R was tasked with tying up the loose ends and cleaning up the leftover mess. Q was banished from the building on direct orders from M to take a long weekend and relax. 

Friday night was blissfully quiet, as James and Alec were still in the field. Q ate a light meal, took a long, luxurious bath, then crashed and slept for 14 uninterrupted hours, practically a record. Saturday Q spent a leisurely day in his pajamas, playing with Sixsmith, enjoying some videos and games, but by evening he was getting antsy and realized he was overdue to get outside his head and not think for a while. He worked hard, and now he needed to play hard. At 2104 he dug out his skin tight leather trousers and boots, dropped the two hits of X he found jammed at the bottom of the pants pocket– yes, why not - threw on some makeup, and downed two shots of Alec’s top shelf Russian vodka. 

He was ready. 

\---

Q arrived at his favorite dance club at 2213. He was in luck; a hot new DJ from the States was playing. The line to get in stretched around the block, but Q received a grinning “Welcome back!” from the doorman, who whisked him in without delay. Q had been a regular at one time, and the staff still held him in high esteem – he tipped well and didn’t make trouble. Not to mention he had attracted a top quality clientele in his wake. 

The bass was pounding and the lights strobed as he made his way to the main bar. He would stick with water while dancing; the heat in the room and his accelerated metabolism increased the risk of dehydration. Q had done this enough times to know alcohol was not his best choice right now. The warm up DJ was still on and the place was already packed; the darkness made it hard to see, but Q thought he saw a face he recognized and slowly headed that way across the dance floor. The dubstep beat was relentless, and Q found his body moving with the insistent rhythm automatically as the drug took effect. The crowd surged, and he slammed into a man in front of him as he was jostled from behind. 

“Sorry,” he shouted, unheard over the speakers. The man turned to throw a dirty look, frowning instead as he saw the offender. 

“Q? What are you doing here? “ The frown morphed into a lopsided smile. “Fuck, you look fabulous.”

“Seb, haven’t seen you in ages.” Q pointed to the back of the room, and they wormed their way through the churning mass of bodies and descended to the quieter lower level, where they found an empty snug.

Seb jumped right in. “Quentin Holmes, you little shit, you left me high and dry in Soho that night.”

Q’s X was pumping now. “God, Seb, I’m so sorry, I had an offer I couldn’t refuse.” He smiled alluringly. “You know I’d never deliberately hurt you,” he cooed, batting his eyelashes. 

Seb stared hard at him for a moment, considering how to respond. He was sorely tempted to slap Q senseless, but decided to let it drop. “So, OK, yeah, it was a long time ago. You always were a flirt.“  
Seb moved on; “What are you doing now?”

“Computer stuff, business, you know, boring.” Q still had it together enough to keep his answer vague. “How about you?”

“Same thing, working for my cousin, whatever he needs, he has a lot of different businesses.” Seb shrugged. “It pays well and has some interesting perks.” 

“Glad you’re doing well. Have a girlfriend yet?” Q snickered. 

Seb hesitated. “No, no time really, just a quick leg over every now and again.”

The volume of the music upstairs edged up several notches, pure aural sex. Q’s knee was pumping and his fingers drummed the table. “Sounds like Skrillex is coming on, come on, let’s dance. “ He jumped up, hauling Seb by the sleeve. 

“Yeah, OK, give me a minute, I have to make a call.” 

Q nodded. “I’ll be to stage left, near the back,” he called over his shoulder as he bounded up the stairs two at a time. “Bring water.”

At 2257, as soon as Q was gone, Seb hit speed dial for Jim. “You’ll never guess who I just ran into?”  
The call lasted a few minutes; afterwards, he checked that Q was dancing away in oblivion, then made a quick trip to his van. 

\---

Two hours of non-stop dancing and three bottles of water later, Seb threw an arm around Q’s shoulders and shouted in his ear, “Loo!” The word barely registered, Q was high as a kite, and he stumbled along blindly following Seb’s lead. The men’s bathroom was moderately busy, but no one batted an eye when Seb shoved Q in a stall and slammed the door shut. 

This wasn’t the first time Seb and Q had occupied a stall together, and all that lovely X coursing through Q’s veins screamed for release. He dropped to his knees and fumbled at Seb’s flies. Seb leered down as that gorgeous mouth circled his cock, and smirked openly as he came on Q’s face. “Just like old times, eh, Q? Except this time, I’m not going to reciprocate. Well, at least not the way you’d like.” He pulled a syringe from his shirt pocket and jabbed it in Q’s neck. “Nighty -night, sweet prince.” 

At 0210, Q collapsed, limp as a rag doll, and passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran were poor Irish lads who were first cousins, growing up in Dublin and Belfast respectively. Jim was five years older than Seb, so in addition to the physical distance between them, the age gap meant they did very little interacting when they were young. Seb’s family moved to London to escape The Troubles and the aftermath; Jim didn’t land in London until he was forced to leave the Ould Sod or end up in Mountjoy Prison. Jim began spinning his web immediately; his crafty wits and ruthless violence enabled him to rise quickly to the top of the British criminal class – or descend to the depths of its particular brand of hell, depending on one’s viewpoint.

Several years later, a chance encounter during a drug deal led to a tearful reunion – Jim beat the shite out of Seb, and Seb cried. Jim allowed Seb to work off his debt by doing various nasty little jobs for him; one of those jobs involved servicing Jim whenever Jim demanded, which was often. Seb really had no choice – it was that, or death – and Seb wasn’t ready to die. He knew Jim didn’t make idle threats, and it wasn’t smart to cross him.

Seb did, however, occasionally reap the benefits of Jim’s good graces - free drugs and alcohol, nice guns, explosives, they shared a boy toy now and again. He had helped with several of Jim’s little projects involving Sherlock Holmes, planting evidence and placing bombs, some sniper work. He vaguely remembered that his friend Q was related to Holmes somehow, but he hadn’t seen Q in years, and Jim hadn’t known of Seb’s relationship with his friend Quentin until the call came through. Seb knew Jim would be interested.

Now Jim was never one to pass up an opportunity, and he squealed with delight at the prospect of one of the Holmes boys tied up naked on his bed; he wasn’t particular about which one. He gave Seb very specific instructions, and pondered his good fortune. Oh, this was going to be fun.

\---

James Bond and Alec Trevelyan deplaned at Heathrow at 0920 on Sunday morning, exhausted, with the goal of food+bath+sleep in that order foremost in their minds. MI6 could wait until Monday. 

On entering the flat, they were greeted by one very pissed off cat. The food bowl was licked clean, the water bowl empty, and no sign of Q. His computer was turned off – never a good omen. Bond scrounged around until he found the secret note – on paper! - with the passwords, and logged on. None of the trackers in Q’s clothing indicated he had left the building, meaning he was wearing something unusual. Alec checked the toy closet and found the leather stuff missing. Fuck. Q had gone out to play, he could be in any of a dozen places. Well, they were tired, Q was a big boy, he’d be home when he finished his fling. They headed for the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were having a rousing Sunday morning shag when Sherlock’s text alert chimed. They ignored it until after their glorious near-simultaneous finish, post-coital nap, bath, tea and toast, and settling in on the sofa with the Sunday Times. 

“Sherlock, did you check that text?” John asked, sipping his second cup of tea. 

“It was Mycroft, I deleted it.”

“Did you even read it?”

“Um, no.”

John sighed deeply. “Haven’t we had this discussion before? And you agreed to at least read texts before you delete them? Hmm?”

Sherlock jumped up with his Majorly Annoyed Why Am I Surrounded By Idiots face in place. “Fine, John, if you want to know what he wanted, you can text him yourself.” He headed for his room in a strop, dressing gown flaring behind. 

John shook his head; he would have to be the responsible adult, again. He texted Mycroft and was surprised to receive a return phone call immediately. Apparently the minions had seen a certain person of interest on a certain surveillance camera enter a certain club last night, and not come out. He was quite interested in the whereabouts of said person and would like Sherlock to investigate immediately. 

Sherlock’s response to John’s information was lukewarm. He shrugged. “And why should I do this?”

“Because Mycroft says it’s someone called ‘Q’?” 

\---

Seb followed Jim’s instructions to the letter, shouldering the unconscious Q (fortunately, a featherweight) and hustling him out the service entrance and into the van. He had dutifully checked for cameras on the back door earlier when he went out to the van for the sedative, and had left the door propped open a few inches when he came back in – no alarms. Q was out cold and showed no signs of coming around, so Seb left him untied and drove straight to Jim’s. He stuck to the route Jim had given him in order to avoid the CCTV. Seb didn’t notice the camera in the back hall of the club. 

\---

Q regained consciousness at 0836 on Sunday morning, disoriented, dehydrated, with a monster headache and no glasses and something unpleasant dried on his face. His efforts to remedy his discomfort were stymied by the fact that he was spread-eagled and cuffed hand and foot stark naked to a bed in a totally dark room. The last thing he remembered was dancing to Bangarang, then nothing but black. It was vexing. He tried yelling but received no response and only exacerbated the throbbing in his head. There was nothing he could do but wait.

\---

Sherlock rarely cursed – he found it vulgar, unimaginative, and boring – but he let out a string of invective when he heard “Q.” He barked at John savagely, “Get on the computer now!” as he grabbed his phone and pounded the keyboard; Mycroft had apparently been demoted from speed dial. John dared not ask the obvious question –“Who’s ‘Q’?” – for fear he’d have his head taken off, so he sat at attention in front of his laptop awaiting further orders. Sherlock’s discussion with Mycroft was loud and peppered with curses, ending abruptly when Sherlock stabbed the phone off, slammed the computer shut narrowly missing John’s fingers, and threw on his Belstaff, dragging John by the shirt. “Come on, John, now!”

\---

Mycroft rarely cursed – he found it vulgar, unimaginative, and plebian – but he spat a succinct “Fuck” when he viewed the club CCTV footage. A visit to the club owner by a phalanx of MI5 agents in full assault gear had yielded the indoor camera tape rather quickly, and Mycroft had the distinctly unpleasant honor of phoning M on the priority phone. M was less than happy about the abduction of his Quartermaster; he breathed a silent “Fuck,” as he was in the middle of brunch with his wife at the vicar’s Sunday after-church buffet. He made his apologies and excused himself, ordering his driver to make all haste to MI6. He immediately ordered all Double – oh’s currently in London to report in person- priority one; 006 and 007 arrived within 20 minutes, in full battle mode.


	4. Chapter 4

Jim awoke at 1003 refreshed and looking forward to a good day. Seb had done well and been amply rewarded last night – well, earlier this morning; he was still soaking his arse in the tub. Jim had an ace in the hole, so to speak; just how to not waste his advantage was the question. What should he do with his adorable little present? He surveyed the possibilities while dining on his full English breakfast. Jim always did his best thinking on a full stomach. 

\---

Sherlock and John met Mycroft at the Diogenes Club; they Skyped M and his team at MI6 to coordinate strategy and tactics. R and Q Branch would begin looking for possible suspects online, beginning with patterns of activity for known criminals. Sherlock would contact his homeless network; on a weekend night at 2AM near a popular club, someone must have seen something near the back alley. John and an MI5 team were sent to the club to search for physical evidence; all agreed it was better to leave Scotland Yard out of this one. Bond and Trevelyan raided weapons storage and loaded themselves with everything they could carry. 

Within the hour Billy Wiggins from Sherlock’s homeless network reported seeing a white van leaving the alley behind the club around 0220 while he was diving in a skip – or so he claimed. R and Q Branch ran vehicle ID’s and searched mobile records. John questioned staff from the club and had a description of a medium tall man with short dirty blond or reddish hair and a slim but athletic build sitting in a snug with Q; they were also seen dancing together. The bathroom had been cleaned by the morning crew; no physical evidence was found, but the back hall camera yielded a shadowy image of a man carrying a limp body out the back door around 0215.

The results of the search for mobile calls originating from the club between 11PM and 3AM were cross referenced with the suspect description and vehicle reports to yield a name – one Sebastian Moran. Further data analysis confirmed Moran as a known associate of one James Moriarty. R located Moriarty’s known hideouts and bolt holes and identified his three most probable current locations. Surveillance was initiated at those three locations. Thirty minutes later the van was found behind a run-down terrace house in Hackney, and Moran was observed sneaking out the back for a cigarette. The plan was tweaked and given the go ahead. 

At 1451 Bond and Trevelyan headed out along with the retrieval team. 

\---

Jim deliberated through the early afternoon, and finally decided to trade his prize for something he sorely missed. His very favorite sniper was presently ensconced in HM Prison Holloway in the disastrous aftershock of the Magnussen debacle. A sordid story of Mary Morstan’s involvement had been manufactured by Mycroft Holmes (“I don’t have to prove it, I just print it” he quipped, straight-faced) after Jim’s unfortunate child died (collateral damage) and John Watson had licked his wounds and crawled back into Sherlock’s arms. Everyone knew Mary was at the top of her game and Jim needed her in Eastern Europe desperately.

Offering a trade meant that his little kitten needed to be kept alive, and in relatively good condition. Jim sighed heavily. He would have loved to have a pair of custom shoes made from that perfect pale unblemished skin, but Mary was more useful. Still, he could have a bit of fun before cashing in his chip. He headed up to the bedroom where Seb was having a private moment with Q. 

\---

Mycroft and Sherlock sat silently side by side in the back of the sleek black car, ignoring each other; Moriarty’s reappearance had them both on edge. John loaded and checked his weapon. The car pulled in as discreetly as possible a block away from Jim’s house, while the medical van idled one street over. John left the car silently and joined the MI5 assault team that was in place covering the front of the building; the MI6 retrieval team had the back. Bond took the roof position, and Alec readied himself to slip into the basement. Surveillance verified no one had entered or left the house since 0900. Everything was in place and ready. They awaited M’s signal.


	5. Chapter 5

Jim opened the bedroom door and swaggered in, already half hard in anticipation of his juicy little treat.

The room was empty. No Q. No Seb. 

Jim went ballistic. 

He screamed and cursed and stomped and shouted as he flung open the bathroom door and found Seb cuffed to the plumbing. “What the hell happened, you moron? Where’s my prize?”  
Seb knew better than to try to placate Jim – it would only aggravate him – so he kept silent. Plus, it was impossible to speak with a flannel jammed in his mouth. 

Jim stormed out and returned a few minutes later, his fury unabated. He tazed Seb until he seized and left him in the tub. He was certain Q had notified MI6 of his abduction by now, so he grabbed his phone and headed out the escape tunnel he had installed for just such an occasion. He closed the hatch behind him.

\---

At 1629 M gave the signal.

All hell broke loose.

Every window in the house was broken simultaneously by incoming tear gas rounds. The front door collapsed when the ram hit and the assault team flooded in. Bond entered through the bedroom window and caught sight of someone who appeared to be unconscious chained in the bathroom. Verifying it wasn’t Q, he left the man and worked his way downstairs. Alec entered through the basement door, found nothing, and proceeded upstairs. The MI6 team breached the back of the house. All the rescuers converged in the front hall.

No Jim, no Q. Fuck. 

\---

Sitting in the garden shed behind the house two doors down, Q wondered what the ruckus was about. He shrugged and finished the sandwich he had nicked when he snuck out through the house connected to Jim’s. He fell asleep while he waited for the noise to settle down. When he awoke, it was quiet. He waited until it was dark in case Seb was watching, then stretched and headed out for the nearest Tube station. 

\---  
The debriefing at MI6 was a bit Not Good. M was not happy; Mycroft was livid. Sherlock mumbled to himself and paced; John stayed out of the way. Bond and Trevelyan dug out the vodka hidden in the weapons locker and headed down to Q Branch to intimidate the minions, until they were summarily summoned to M’s office. The meeting lasted well into the evening. Previous data was reviewed, no new relevant data was found. They were stalled for now. Around midnight, M sent Bond and Trevelyan home, to be ready for immediate recall as needed. R and the minions continued their surveillance. 

\---

Q shuffled into the flat at 2051.  
It had been a long day. He fed Sixmith, stripped and fell right into bed. He was exhausted. He was even too tired to make tea.

\---

James and Alec were still arguing when they entered the flat. It was late, they were half drunk, trying to figure where the retrieval plan had gone wrong. They grabbed Alec’s bottle of vodka from the freezer and flopped on the sofa. “He was in that house, he had to be, we saw the CCTV,” Alec protested. “Where the fuck did he go?” James threw up his hands. “Hell if I know, he wasn’t in the house when I got there. No one was there but the man handcuffed in the bathtub, he was out cold, and who knows what hap – “ Something caught James’ eye. There was cat food in the bowl. Fresh cat food.

He rose slowly. “Alec, I’m going to check the bedroom. Cover me.” They grabbed their guns and crept down the hall, then slowly cracked the bedroom door. Q was snoring peacefully sprawled over the middle of the bed on his back. They looked at each other and Alec snickered. It blossomed into full blown laughter, and soon they were hanging on each other practically in tears. When they had calmed down, they flipped a coin to see who would get to call M.


	6. Chapter 6

Q awoke at 0609, once again disoriented and dehydrated. This was getting tiresome. He rubbed his eyes and rolled over, feeling for his glasses, then checked the clock. “Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbled, “I’m late.” Forgoing robe and slippers, he padded down the hall to have a quick cup of Earl Gray, only to pull up short. His agents were sprawled across the lounge furniture, totally disheveled, the empty vodka bottle on the floor. He surveyed the scene. “Situation normal here then,” he snorted. He fixed his tea and headed for the shower. 

James vaguely registered clattering in the kitchen and awoke desperate for a piss. He charged into the bathroom, running smack into a startled and very naked Q. “Well, you naughty boy, where have you been?” he smirked. “M’s having a nervous breakdown and half of London is looking for you… and what’s that disgusting dried stuff on your face?” 

Q frowned. He was a bit late for work, why was M so upset? It occurred to him he hadn’t washed since leaving the flat the night before, and actually had no idea what he looked like. He shrugged. “Sauce, maybe? From the sandwich I ate?” 

“Nice try, Q, I think not. Come here.” James grinned as he wrapped an arm around Q’s waist and dragged him over to the shower. “Clean. Now. Then Alec and I will decide what to do with you. ” 

A phone call a few minutes later from Miss Moneypenny put the fun and games on hold. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, James, but M wants all three of you in his office immediately. “

James sighed. “On our way.”

\---

M was troubled by Moriarty’s return to the London crime scene; recent intelligence indicated he’d been active almost exclusively in Eastern Europe since the failed media takeover attempt. M fired questions at Q like a cross examination: How did you meet Moran? When was the last time you saw him? Had you met Moriarty previously? What happened at the club? How did you get to Moriarty’s? Had you ever been there before? What did Moriarty say? Did he make any demands or mention any names? 

M was also extremely irritated at MI6’s miserable failure to follow Q’s movements. He continued to pepper Q with questions - How did you get out of the club? How did you escape? How did you get back to the flat without being seen? It went on and on.

Q answered as best he could, seeing there was a big gap in his memory. 

“I don’t remember anything after dancing at the club until I awoke in restraints. I had no idea where I was being held, and never saw anyone. I faded in and out of consciousness until Seb – Moran- came in the room.“ He paused, looking a bit uncomfortable. 

“Go on,” M prodded.

Q’s response was hesitant. “Seb and I met at a club and became friends a long time ago. We had a sort of –er, relationship. It was a pleasant surprise when I saw him at the club, seemed a bit like old times. Well, just a bit. At the house, when he came in the bedroom I realized he could be my ticket out. I, um, used my, uh, wiles to get him to undo the cuffs. I promised him… um…oral sex. “

Bond rolled his eyes. 

“He agreed and released me. “ Q actually blushed. “I, um… did what I said I would.”

M replied wryly, “It seems you are very clever indeed.” 

Bond’s eyes crinkled as he suppressed a laugh. Alec bit his tongue. 

“And then?” 

“Seb – Moran – was a bit relaxed - after- so I suggested a bath – he used to like that sometimes - and so we went - . “ Q was beet red now, to the tips of his ears. 

Bond and Alec were completely attentive, enjoying themselves immensely. 

“You went…?” M was relentless. 

“Into the bath and I grabbed the handcuffs while his back was turned and hooked him up to the water pipes. I looked around and found an attic access in the ceiling, and stood on a piece of furniture to hoist myself up. I closed the panel behind me to cover my escape route. The attic walls in those cheap housing units are open near the eaves, so I squeezed through and went down the row through several units. I stopped and listened to make sure no one was home there, then came down and let myself out through a back door. I crawled along the garden fence and hid in a shed until dark, and took the Tube home. My hood was up and I kept my head down – Seb would surely be looking for me – and the techs didn’t ID me, it seems. Oh, and I stole a sandwich.“

M sat silently for a few minutes, then slowly shook his head and buzzed for Miss Moneypenny. 

“Get me R,” he barked. “I want all surveillance protocols and algorithms reviewed and revised immediately.”  
He didn’t look up from his desk, merely growled, “I’ll decide on appropriate disciplinary measures later. Get out.” He paused and looked up. “Oh, and Bond…”

“Sir?” 

“You may need to hire a minder.” M’s eyes twinkled.

“Yes, sir.” 

\---

The three men waited in the hallway for the elevator. Bond couldn’t resist; he leaned over to Q’s ear and whispered sweetly.  
“A – relationship? With Moran? We’d love to hear all about it. And we want to hear about your lovely evening out without us, the club, the dancing. And the bathtub. Especially the bathtub. “

Q closed his eyes and swallowed hard. This was going to be difficult. And, if he got lucky, deliciously painful. He smiled to himself.

His agents smiled broadly. Oh, this was going be fun.


	7. Chapter 7

Sebastian Moran was fuming. He’d been sitting in a cold, miserable cell with no phone or TV for over 24 hours; he was achy and needed a cigarette. He’d been interrogated by MI5 and MI6 and had given them nothing; Jim had trained him well. They couldn’t positively identify him from the club tape and couldn’t prove that he had been driving the van. And Q had done what he did of his own free will; hell, all Seb did was let him loose. No, they needed to either charge him or let him go. He had nothing to worry about. Well, yes, Jim, but Jim wouldn’t come here – he’d probably already left the country or gone to ground, he could manipulate his web from anywhere. Everything was fine, all he had to do was wait and keep his mouth shut. He dropped to the floor and did pushups to let off steam. 

\---

Mycroft received a text from M that afternoon regarding something they should discuss privately; Anthea arranged an appointment. When Mycroft arrived, an open bottle of 18 year old Talisker on M’s desk indicated a topic of some import was on the docket. M offered, and Mycroft accepted. “What, may I inquire, merits your best Scotch?” he asked. 

M nodded at phone lying on the desk.“ We queried Moran’s phone. There’s a video.” He paused. “It features your brother in a – compromising position, shall we say? I thought you’d like to know. ” 

“May I see it?”

“Of course.” M pushed the phone slowly across the desk. 

Mycroft started the video, a moue of distaste passing briefly, and sighed softly. “Ah. Yes. And may I assume this was taken in the men’s room at the club?”

M was silent. 

“Well then. “ Mycroft queried, “Are there other copies?” 

“Not to our knowledge.” 

“Then perhaps I might keep this phone?” 

“I see no reason why not.”

“Excellent.” The phone disappeared into Mycroft’s jacket. “Thank you for your consideration.”

“Do you have any preference for the disposition of the Moran case?” 

A tiny half smile appeared on Mycroft’s face. “No rush.”

\---

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had an exhilarating Tuesday morning shag; their sex life was vigorous.   
Later, as they sat in the lounge, John decided Sherlock was relaxed enough to ask him the question. 

“So why didn’t you tell me you have another brother?”

“Irrelevant, John.”

John glared. “Irrelevant? Your own brother? Sherlock, how can you say that?”

Sherlock huffed. “No, John, telling you was irrelevant. You had no reason to know.”

“Oh-kay,” John drew out the two syllables. “So your brother isn’t irrelevant?”

“Of course not, we’re just not…close. Not any more, anyway. He does boring government things.”

“You were close once?” John was patient. It was like pulling teeth. He was used to it by now. 

“Um… yes. We are only a few years apart in age; we had some common interests while growing up.”

“Such as…?

“We played music and chess. And we’re both smart. But I’m the smart one.”

John smiled. “Of course you are. You’re the smartest.” Sherlock pretended not to gloat.” Anything else?”

“We also shared an interest in experiments after uni. “ Then Sherlock mumbled very quickly, looking away, “And we went clubbing some.”

Grinning. “Seriously, Sherlock, you, clubbing?” 

“A bit, yes. I might have met Moran once or twice.”

John thought about that for a minute. He went back to his newspaper.


	8. Chapter 8

At 2045 Q was deep in subspace, soaked with sweat, struggling against the cuffs and ropes and begging Alec and James to let him come. 

“Please, sir, please, can I….I can’t…”

Bond snatched his head back by that irresistible hair and twisted Q’s collar as he bit down hard on the pale, damp throat. Q moaned, panted. He was so close.

James and Alec exchanged glances, and Alec nodded. 

“Come now, Q” from Bond was all it took, and Q let go blissfully in a gorgeous rictus of bone and muscle. 

Q’s little misadventure had required some fairly severe punishment, and the scene had been going for almost two hours. The agents had wheedled the Moran story from Q and come up with the brilliant idea to replicate the juiciest parts right in their own bathroom. Q had endured the full gamut of the Double –Oh’s repertoire and was now reaping his reward. He loved nothing more than to be the perfect sub for his doms, and did his best to make sure they were kept satisfied. They, in turn, surpassed his wildest dreams.

James was in charge of aftercare, making sure Q had fluids and was warm and safe. Alec brought a warm flannel and gently wiped Q down; Q lolled in endorphin heaven, and drowsed off to sleep quickly.

The lure of yet another full bottle of vodka in the freezer sent Alec to the kitchen. He brought it back to bed along with two glasses, and he and James drank in silence, petting Q as he slept, the perfect end to an enjoyable evening. 

Agents are rarely far from the action, physically or mentally, even at rest, and Bond’s mind turned to Moriarty and Moran. They had committed a fatal error; they crossed the line that separated professional and personal. Bond would make sure they paid for their mistake. No one was permitted to touch Q and get away with it. No one. 

That thought sparked down through the neural pathways of Bond’s brain, through the arteries and great vessels, saturating the blood that flowed tumultuously to the powerful heart that suddenly slammed in his chest, where the thought morphed and exploded in a shower of fire and longing. Bond recognized that searing pain; it was an old and dangerous friend. He knew its name. 

It was only at that moment that James realized exactly how far Q had burrowed past his defenses. He would, indeed, kill for him on a personal level; that, and more. He would step beyond the bounds not only of the law, but also of the wall that Vesper’s legacy created around his heart. To do so was more terrifying than facing the world’s greatest criminals and sadists and psychopaths; was he really willing to expose his vulnerability again? Until now, James Bond hadn’t even recognized this as a relevant question, but, surprisingly, he found he already knew the answer. 

With a small smile, he drew Q closer; sated with his lover’s scent, he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Part II is in the planning stages, but no guarantees on posting time. Life is a bit complicated right now. Will do my best to get it up asap.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments always appreciated.


End file.
